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Go, then, triumphant! sweep along
Thy course, the theme of many a song!
The Power, whose dictates swell my breast,
Hath bless'd thee, and thou shalt be bless'd!-

On this transcendant passage we shall only remark that of the gloomy part of the prophecy we hear nothing more, and though the abbot informs the king that he shall be

"On foreign shores a man exil'd,"

the poet never speaks of him, up to the battle of Bannockbourn, but as resident in Scotland.

The progress through the islands, and the mustering of the clans is finely described. The eighth stanza is, we think, touchingly beautiful, and breathes a sweet and melancholy tenderness perfectly suitable to the sad tale it records.

VII.

"Merrily, merrily, bounds the bark

She bounds before the gale,
The mountain breeze from Ben-na-darch
Is joyous in her sail!

With fluttering sound like laughter hoarse,

The cords and canvass strain,

The waves, divided by her force,
In rippling eddies chased her course,
As if they laugh'd again.

Not down the breeze more blithely flew,
Skimming the wave, the light sea-mew,
Than that gay galley bore
Her course upon that favouring wind,
And Coolin's crest has sunk behind,

And Slapin's cavern'd shore.
'Twas then that warlike signals wake
Dunscaith's dark towers and Eisord's lake.
And soon from Cavilgarrigh's head,

Thick wreaths of eddying smoke were spread;
A summons these of war and wrath,
To the brave clans of Sleat and Strath,

And, ready at the sight,
Each warrior to his weapons sprung,
And targe upon his shoulder flung,

Impatient for the fight.

Mac-Kinnon's chief, in warfare gray,
Had charge to muster their array,
And guide their barks to Brodick-bay.
VIII.

Signal of Ronald's high command,
A beacon gleam'd o'er sea and land,
From Canna's tower, that, steep and gray,
Like falcon nest o'erhangs the bay.
Seek not the giddy crag to climb,
To view the turret scathed by time;
It is a task of doubt and fear
To aught but goat or mountain-deer.
But rest thee on the silver beach,
And let the aged herdsman teach
His tale of former day;
His cur's wild clamour he shall chide,
And for thy seat by ocean's side,

His varied plaid display;
Then tell, with Canna's chieftain came,
In ancient times, a foreign dame

To yonder turret gray.
Stern was her Lord's suspicious mind,
Who in so rude a jail confined

So soft and fair a thrall!

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And oft when moon on ocean slept, That lovely lady sate and wept

Upon the castle-wall,

And turn d her eye to southern climes,
And thought perchance of happier times,
And touch'd her lute by fits, and sung
Wild ditties in her native tongue.
And stili, when on the cliff and bay
Placid and pale the moonbeams play,
And every breeze is mute,
Upon the lone Hebridean 's ear
Steals a strange pleasure mix d with fear,
While from that cliff he seems to hear
The murmur of a lute,
That mourns her woes in tongue unknown-
And sounds, as of a captive lone,
Strange is the tale-but all too long
Already hath it staid the song-

Yet who may pass them by,
That crag and tower in ruins gray,
Nor to their hapless tenant pay
The tribute of a sigh!

IX.
Merrily, merrily, bounds the bark
O'er the broad ocean driven,
Her path by Ropin's mountains dark
The steersman s hand has given.
And Ronin's mountains dark have sent
Their hunters to the shore,
And each his ashen bow unbent,

And gave his pastime o'er,
And at the Island Lord's command,
For hunting spear took warrior's brand.
On Scooreigg next a warning light
Summon'd her warriors to the fight;
A numerous race, ere stern Macleod
O'er their bleak shores in vengeance strode,
When all in vain the ocean cave
Its refuge to his victims gave.
The Chief, relentless in his wrath,
With blazing heath blockades the path;
In dense and stifling volumes roll'd,
The vapour fill'd the cavern'd Hold!
The warrior-threat, the infant's plain,
The mother's screams, were heard in vain;
The vengeful Chiet maintains his fires,
Till in the vault a tribe expires!

The bones which strew that cavern's gloom,
Too well attest their dismal doom.
X.

Merrily, merrily, goes the bark

On a breeze from the northward free,
So shoots through the morning sky the lark,
Or the swan through the summer sea.
The shores of Mul on the eastward lay,
And Ulva dark and Colonsay,
And all the group of islets gay

That guard famed Staffa round.
Then all unknown its columns rose,
Where dark and undisturb'd repose
The cormorant had found,
And the shy seal had quiet home,
And welter'd in that wondrous dome,
Where, as to shame the temples deck'd
By skill of earthly architect,
Nature herself, it seem'd, would raise
A Minster to her Maker's praise.!
Not for a meaner use ascend
Her columns, or her arches bend;
Nor of a theme less solemn tells
That mighty surge that ebbs and swells,
And still, between each awful pause,
From the high vault an answer draws,
In varied tone prolong'd and high,
That mocks the organ's melody.

Nor doth its entrance front in vain To old Iona's holy fane,

That nature's voice might seem to say,
"Well hast thou done, frail child of clay!
Thy humble powers that stately shrine
Task'd high and hard-but witness mine!'-
XI.

Merrily, merrily, goes the bark,

Before the gale she bounds;

So darts the dolphin from the shark,
Or the deer before the hounds.

They left Loch-Tua on their lee,

And they waken'd the men of the wild Tiree,
And the chief of the sandy Coll;
They paused not at Columba's isle,
Though peal'd the bells from the holy pile

With long and measured toll;
No time for matin or for mass,
And the sounds of the holy summons pass
Away in the billows' roll.
Lochbuie's fierce and warlike Lord
Their signal saw, and grasp'd his sword,
And verdant Ilay call'd her host,
And the clans of Jura's rugged coast

Lord Ronald's call obey,
And Scarba's isles, whose tortured shore
Still rings to Corrievreken's roar,

And lonely Colonsay;

-Scenes sung by him who sings no more! His bright and brief career is o'er,

And mute his tuneful strains!
Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore,
That loved the light of song to pour ;
A distant and a deadly shore

Has LEYDEN's cold remains!
XII.

Ever the breeze blows merrily,
But the galley ploughs no more the sea.
Lest, rounding wild Cantire, they meet
The southern foemen's watchful fleet,

They held unwonted way;-
Up Tarbat's western lake they bore,
Then dragg'd their bark the isthmus o'er,
As far as Kilmaconnel's shore,

Upon the eastern bay.
It was a wondrous sight to see
Topmast and pennon glitter free,
High raised above the greenwood tree,
As on dry land the galley moves,
By cliff and copse and alder groves.
Deep import from that selcouth sign,
Did many a mountain Seer divine,
For ancient legends told the Gael,
That when a royal bark should sail

O'er Kilmaconnel moss,
Old Albyn should in fight prevail,
And every foe should faint and quail
Before her silver Cross.

XIII.
Now launch'd once more, the inland sca
They furrow with fair augury,

And steer for Arran's isle;
The sun, ere yet he sunk behind
Ben-ghoil, the Mountain of the Wind,'
Gave his grim peaks a greeting kind,

And bade Loch-Ranza smile.
Thither their destined course they drew;
It seem'd the isle her monarch knew,
So brilliant was the landward view,

The ocean so serene,

Each puny wave in diamonds roll'd
O'er the calm deep, where hues of gold
With azure strove and green.

The hill, the vale, the tree, the tower,
Glow'd with the tints of evening's hour,
The beach was silver sheen,
The wind breathed soft as lover's sigh,
And, oft renew'd, seem'd oft to die,

With breathless pause between. O who, with speech of war and woes, Would wish to break the soft repose Of such enchanting scene!"

The setting forth of the Bruce and his followers for the attack of Carrick Castle, and the appearance of the supernatural beacon, are related with extraordinary vividness and effect.

XII.

"Now on the darkening main afloat,
Ready and mann'd rocks every boat;
Beneath their oars the ocean's might
Was dash'd to sparks of glimmering light.
Faint and more faint, as off they bore,
Their armour glanced against the shore,
And, mingled with the dashing tide,
Their murmuring voices distant died.-
'God speed them' said the Priest, as dark
On distant billows glides each bark;

'O Heaven! when swords for freedom shine,
And monarch's right, the cause is thine!
Edge doubly every patriot blow!
Beat down the banners of the foe!
And be it to the nations known,
That Victory is from God alone!"-
As up the hill his path he drew,
He turn'd, his blessings to renew,
Oft turn'd till on the darken'd coast
All traces of their course were lost;
Then slowly bent to Brodick tower,
To shelter for the evening hour.
XIII.

In night the fairy prospects sink,
Where Cumray's isles with verdant link
Close the fair entrance of the Clyde;
The woods of Bute no more descried
Are gone-and on the placid sea
The rowers plied their task with glee,
While hands that knightly lances bore
Impatient aid the labouring oar.
The half-faced moon shone dim and pale,
And glanced against the whiten'd sail;
But on that ruddy beacon-light

Each steersman kept the helm aright,
And oft, for such the King's command,
That all at once might reach the strand,
From boat to boat loud shout and hail
Warn'd them to crowd or slacken sail.
South and by west the armada bore,
And near at length the Carrick shore.
As less and less the distance grows,
High and more high the beacon rose;
The light, that seem'd a twinkling star,
Now blazed portentous, fierce, and far.
Dark-red the heaven above it glow'd,
Dark-red the sea beneath it flow'd,
Red rose the rocks on ocean's brim,
In blood-red light her islets swim;
Wild scream the dazzled sea-lowl gave,
Dropp'd from their crags on plashing wave,
The deer to distant covert drew,

The black-cock deem'd it day, and crew,

Like some tall castle given to flame,
O'er half the land the lustre came.

VOL. 1.-No. 15.

36

Now, good my Liege, and brother sage, What think ye of mine elfin page?' Row on the noble King replied, 'We'll learn the truth whate'er betide; Yet sure the beadsman and the child Could ne'er have waked that beacon wild!'

XIV.

With that the boats approach'd the land,
But Edward's grounded on the sand;
The eager knight leap'd in the sea
Waist-deep, and first on shore was he,
Though every barge's hardy band
Contended which should gain the land,
When that strange light, which, seen afar,
Seem'd steady as the polar star,
Now, like a prophet's fiery chair,
Seem'd travelling the realms of air.
Wide o'er the sky the splendour glows,
As that portentous meteor rose;

Helm, axe, and falchion glitterd'd bright,
And in the red and dusky light

His comrade's face each warrior saw,
Nor marvell'd it was pale with awe.
Then high in air the beams were lost,
And darkness sunk upon the coast.—
Ronald to Heaven a prayer address'd,
And Douglas crossed his dauntless breast;
'Saint James protect us! Lennox cried,
But reckless Edward spoke aside,

Deem'st thou, Kirkpatrick, in that flame
Red Comyn's angry spirit came,
Or would thy dauntless heart endure
Once more to make assurance sure?"

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XXIX.

The Bruce, the Bruce!' to well-known cry His native rocks and woods reply.

The Bruce, the Bruce!' in that dread word The knell of hundred deaths was heard. The astonish'd Southern gazed at first, Where the wild tempest was to burst, That waked in that presaging name. Before, behind, around it came! Half-arm'd, surprised, on every side Hemm'd in, hew'd down, they bled and died. Deep in the ring the Bruce engaged, And fierce Clan-Colla's broadsword raged! Full soon the few who fought were sped, Nor better was their lot who fled, And met, 'mid terror's wild career, The Douglas's redoubted spear! Two hundred yeonien on that morn The castle left, and none return."

The forcing of the drawbridge and gates has been assigned to Edward, and

the prince, with that customary recklessness which

"oft made good,

Even by its daring, venture rude,
Where prudence might have fail'd,"

has march'd to the assault before the appointed signal;

"Upon the bridge his strength he threw, And struck the iron chain in two

By which its planks arose;

The warder next his axe's edge
Struck down upon the threshold ledge,
"Twixt door and post a ghastly wedge!
The gate they may not close.
Well fought the Southern in the fray,
Clifford and Lorn fought well that day,
But stubborn Edward forced his way
Against an hundred foes.

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Loud came the cry, The Bruce, the Bruce
No hope or in defence or truce,

Fresh combatants pour in;
Mad with success, and drank with gore,
They drive the struggling foe before,
And ward on ward they win.
Unsparing was the vengeful sword,
And fimbs were lopp'd and life-blood pour'd,
The cry of death and conflict roar'd,

And fearful was the din;
The startling horses plunged and flung,
Clamour'd the dogs till turrets rung,

Nor sunk the fearful cry,

Till not a foeman was there found
Alive, save those who on the ground
Groan'd in their agony !"

When the king hath "won his father's hall," himself and his friends take a short repast. The Bruce, while the wine is circling, gives the pledge, "FAIR SCOTLAND'S RIGHTS RESTORED,"

"And he whose lip shall touch the wine,
Without a vow as true as mine,
To hold both lands and life at nought,
Until her freedom shall be bought,-
Be brand of a disloyal Scot,
And lasting infamy his lot!
Sit, gentle friends! our hour of glee
Is brief, we'll spend it joyously!
Blithest of all the sun's bright beams,
When betwixt storm and storm he gleams.
Well is our country's work begun,
But more, far more, must yet be done!-
Speed messengers the country through;
Arouse old friends, and gather new;
Warn Lanark's knights to gird their mail,
Rouse the brave sons of Teviotdale,
Let Ettrick's archers sharp their darts,
The fairest forms, the truest hearts!
Call all, call all! from Reedswair path,
To the wild confines of Cape-Wrath;
Wide let the news through Scotland ring,
The Northern Eagle claps his wing!'-

The dream and death of Allan struck us, both in conception and execution, as one of the sweetest passages in the poem. When his turn of watching arrives, the

poor page soon begins to feel the approach of sleep.

"Again he rous'd him—on the lake
Look'd forth, where now the twilight-flake
Of pale cold dawn began to wake.
On Coolin's cliffs the mist lay furl'd,
The morning breeze the lake had curl'd,
The short dark waves, heaved to the land,
With ceaseless plash kiss'd cliff or sand;--
It was a slumb'rous sound-he turn'd
To tales at which his youth had burn'd,
Of pilgrim's path by demon cross'd,
Of sprightly elf or yelling ghost,
Of the wild witch's baneful cot,
And mermaid's alabaster grot,
Who bathes her limbs in sunless well
Deep in Strathaird's enchanted cell.
Thither in fancy rapt he flies,
And on his sight the vaults arise;
That but's dark walls he sees no more,
His foot is on the marble floor,
And o'er his head the dazzling spars
Gleam like a firmament of stars!
-Hark! hears he not the sea-nymph speak
Her anger in that thrilling shriek?
No! all too late, with Allan's dream
Mingled the captive's warning scream!
As from the ground he strives to start,
A ruffian's dagger finds his heart!
Upward he casts his dizzy eyes,. . .
Murmurs his master's name,... and dies!"

The battle is given with Mr. Scott's usual felicity in scenes of this nature. Indeed, the animation and truly martial spirit with which the whole is narrated, bring the varying incidents of the combat full before our eyes, and cannot fail to inspire in the reader a corresponding glow. While the numerous and gay host of the enemy are preparing for the attack, the Bruce orders mass to be performed, and when the Scottish army supplicate on their knees the assistance and protection of heaven in the coming conflict, the English monarch interprets their devotional attitude into a signal of submission. When his mistake is corrected by De Argentine, he directs the archers under Gloucester to begin the fight!

XXIL

"Earl Gilbert waved his truncheon high, Just as the Northern ranks arose,

Signal for England's archery

To halt and bend their bows.
Then stepp'd each yeoman forth a pace,
Glanced at the intervening space,

And raised his left hand high;
To the right ear the cords they bring-
-At once ten thousand bow-strings ring,
Ten thousand arrows fly!
Nor paused on the devoted Scot
The ceaseless fury of their shot;
As fiercely and as fast,

Forth whistling came the gray-goose wing,
As the wild hail-stones pelt and ring
Adown December's blast.

Nor mountain targe of tough bull-hide,
Nor lowland mail, that storm may bide;
Woe, woe to Scotland's banner'd pride,
If the fell shower may last!
Upon the right, behind the wood,
Each by his steed dismounted, stood
The Scottish chivalry ;-

-With foot in stirrup, hand on mane,
Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restrain
His own keen heart, his eager train,
Until the archers gain'd the plain;

Then, Mount, ye gallants free!' He cried; and, vaulting from the ground, His saddle every horseman found. On high their glittering crests they toss, As springs the wild-fire from the moss; The shield hangs down on every breast, Each ready dance is in the rest,

And loud shouts Edward Bruce,-
Forth Marshal, on the peasant foe!
We'll tame the terrors of their bow,

And cut the bow-string loose!--
XXIII.

Then spurs were dash'd in chargers' flanks,
They rush'd among the archer ranks,
No spears were there the shock to let,
No stakes to turn the charge were set,
And how shall yeoman's armour slight
Stand the long lance and mace of might?
Or what may their short swords avail,
'Gainst barbed horse and shirt of mail?
Amid their ranks the chargers sprung,
High o'er their heads the weapons swung,
And shriek and groan and vengeful shout
Give note of triumph and of rout!
Awhile, with stubborn hardihood,
Borne down at length on every side,
Their English hearts the strife made good
Compell'd to flight they scatter wide.--
Let stags of Sherwood leap for glee,
And bound the deer of Dallom-Lee!
The broken bows of Bannock's shore
Shall in the green-wood ring no more!
Round Wakefield's merry inay-pole now,
The maids may twine the summer bough,
May northward look with longing glance,
For those that wont to lead the dance,
For the blithe archers look in vain!
Broken, dispersed, in flight o'erta'en,
Pierced through, trode down, by thousands slain,
They cumber Bannock's bloody plain.
XXIV.

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Down! down! in headlong overthrow, Horseman and horse, the foremost go,

Wild floundering on the field! The first are in destruction's gorge, Their followers wildly o'er them urge

red,

The knightly helm and shield,
The mail, the acton, and the spear,
Strong hand, high heart, are useless here!
Loud from the mass confused the cry
Of dying warriors swells on high,
And steeds that shriek in agony!
They came like mountain-torrent
That thunders o'er its rocky bed;
They broke like that same torrent's wave,
When swallow'd by a darksome cave.
Billows on billows burst and boil,
Mantaining still the stern turmoil,
And to their wild and tortured groan
Each adds new terrors of his own;
XXV.

Too strong in courage and in might
Was England yet, to yield the fight.
Her noblest all are here;
Names that to fear were never known,
Bold Norfolk's Earl De Brotherton,

And Oxford's famed De Vere.
There Gloster plied the bloody sword,
And Berkley, Grey, and Hereford,

Bottetourt and Sanzavere,

Ross, Montague, and Mauley, came,
And Courtenay s pride, and Percy's fame-
Names known too well in Scotland's war,
At Falkirk, Methven, and Dunbar,
Blazed broader yet in after years,
At Cressy red and fell Poitiers.
Pembroke with these, and Argentine,
Brought up the rearward battle-line.
With caution o'er the ground they tread,
Slippery with blood and piled with dead,
Till hand to hand in battle set,

The bills with spears and axes met,
And, closing dark on every side,
Raged the full contest far and wide.
Then was the strength of Douglas tried,

Then proved was Randolph's generous pride,
And well did Stewart's actions grace
The sire of Scotland's royal race!

Firmly they kept their ground;
As firmly England onward press'd,
And down went many a noble crest,
And rent was many a valiant breast,
And Slaughter revell'd round.
XXVI.
Unflinching foot 'gainst foot was set,
Unceasing blow by blow was met;

The groans of those who fell
Were drown'd amid the shriller clang,
That from the blades and harness rang,

And in the battle-yell.
Yet fast they fell, unheard, forgot,
Both Southern fierce and hardy Scot;→
And O! amid that waste of life,
What various motives fired the strife!
The aspiring Noble bled for fame,
The Patriot for his country's claim;
This Knight his youthful strength to prove,
And that to win his lady's love;
Some fought from ruffian thirst of blood,
From habit some, or hardihood.
But ruffian stern and soldier good

The noble and the slave,

From various cause the same wild road,
On the same bloody morning, trode,
To that dark inn the Grave!

XXVII.

The tug of strife to flag begins,
Though neither loses yet nor wins,
High rides the sun, thick rolls the dust,
And feebler speeds the blow and thrust.
Douglas leans on his war-sword now,
And Randolph wipes his bloody brow,
Nor less had toil'd each Southern knight,
From morn till mid-day in the fight.
Strong Egremont for air must gasp,
Beauchamp undoes his visor-clasp,
And Montague must quit his spear,
And sinks thy falchion bold De Vere!
The blows of Berkley fall less fast,
And Gallant Pembroke's bugle blast
Hath lost its lively tone;
Sinks, Argentine, thy battle-word,
And Percy's shout was fainter heard,
'My merry-men, fight on!-
XXVIII.
Bruce with the pilot's wary eye,
The slack'ning of the storm could spy.
'One effort more, and Scotland's free!
Lord of the isles my trust in thee

Is firm as Ailsa-rock:
Rush on with Highland sword and targe,
I, with my Carrick spearmen, charge;
Now, forward to the shock!'

At once the spears were forward thrown,
Against the sun the broad-swords shone;
The pibroch lent its maddening tone,
And loud King Robert's voice was known-
'Carrick press on-they fail, they fail!
Press on, brave sons of Innisgail,

The foe is fainting fast!
Each strike for parent, child and wife,
For Scotland, liberty, and lite,-

The battle cannot last!'-"

Edith, stationed on the hill with the camp-followers, hears the cry of the rallying host, and the notes of their trumpets, “'twixt triumph and lament," and fearful of the event, passionately calls upon them to join their countrymen in the field.

"That rallying force, combined anew, Appear'd, in her distracted view,

To hem the isles-men round;
O God! the combat they renew,
And is no rescue found!

And ye that look thus tamely on,
And see your native land o'erthrown,
O! are your hearts of flesh or stone?'-
XXX.

The multitude that watch'd afar,
Rejected from the ranks of war,
Had not unmoved beheld the fight,
When strove the Bruce for Scotland's right;
Each heart had caught the patriot spark,
Old man and stripling, priest and clerk,
Bondsman and serf; even female hand
Stretch'd to the hatchet or the brand;
But, when mute Amadine they heard,
Give to their zeal his signal-word,

A frenzy fired the throng.-
Portents and miracles impeach
Our sloth-the dumb our duties teach-
And he that gives the mute his speech,
Can bid the weak be strong.
To us, as to our lords, are given
A native earth, a promised heaven;
To us, as to our lords, belongs
The vengeance for our nation's wrongs;

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